Unforgiven
by The Laughing Phoenix
Summary: How three revenges shaped Magic for all time, or the birth of the Unforgiveable Curses.


Unforgiven

Summary: How three revenges shaped Magic for all time, or the birth of the Unforgiveable Curses.

**The Laughing Phoenix** does not own Harry Potter and makes no profit.

WARNING: Murder, the Unforgiveables, references to genocide, regicide, wartime atrocities, and domestic abuse.

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><p><em>Imperial posting station, just outside of Rome, 81AD<em>

There was a loud clattering noise at the compound entrance as a large party rode in. Ari, looking up from his work, caught sight of a group of officers, highly ranked ones if he was reading their insignia right, dancing attendance on someone in their midst. And then the _Tribuini_ moved aside and he got a look at the man they were paying attention to. He wasn't a particularly handsome man, but he carried himself like all the experienced soldiers, with a certain presence. Most telling was his modified uniform – light, ornamented armor and a tunic with a band of purple running along the sleeves.

Imperial purple. The Emperor.

Ari gave the man one last sideways glance, then turned back to the stall he was mucking out. Visions of his last days in Jerusalem kept rising in his mind, and he began shoveling faster, trying to exorcise them with work. It didn't help. The faces kept coming – his mother, stabbed in the gut and left to die in the street. His sisters, huddling together in fear among the other captives, trying to escape the notice of the Roman soldiers, the elder's keening screams when she woke up one morning to find the younger dead. His teacher and younger brother, beaten and crucified.

Ari had somehow survived the slaughter, survived the forced march westward into slavery, though he suspected part of it had to do with his gift, as otherwise crippling injuries he'd sustained in the slaughter had healed cleanly. He was young and relatively strong – he guessed he'd been inches from being sold as a gladiator when he managed to attract the attention of a Tesserarius by calming a fractious mule and removing the stones in its hoof. The man had arranged for him to remain the property of the Roman army, assigned to the care of the animals, and he'd recently been sent to the posting station.

He knew he was relatively lucky. For all that he was a Jewish slave, he was fairly well-treated and the work was not too onerous. At the same time…Ari lifted his head, noting that the Emperor had entered the main station building. Jerusalem haunted him still, eleven years later, and there was the man who had condoned the atrocities, not more than a moment away.

Closing his eyes, Ari began to pray, seeking forgiveness, or perhaps absolution, for what he was about to do. He'd paid attention to the rabbi as a child, and knew the power of words, particularly when joined to his own God-given abilities. "Let him know the pain he has inflicted on Your people. Let him know our suffering." He finished aloud in Hebrew, speaking so softly the words barely reached his ears. The image of Jerusalem's shattered walls, laden with the crucified and tormented bodies of his people, appeared once again in his mind.

Stepping behind the stable, he had a clear view of the Emperor where he stood in the doorway. "Let him know torment," Ari whispered, and then, because words had power and the language was just as important as the words, he switched to Latin – the Emperor's language.

_Crucio._

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_Constantinople, 523AD_

Theodora clenched her hands in her cloak, deliberately keeping her face as impassive as possible. She couldn't believe this. The riots had come close to destabilizing them completely – she was particularly proud of the turn of phrase she'd used to prevent Justinian from fleeing – and to ignore the latent threat would be sheer stupidity.

The interloper Hypatius had had his own coronation – interrupted, yes, but that one had been organized at all was troubling. And he was not the late Emperor Anastasius' only nephew. If, merciful God forbid, the populous decided to turn on Justinian again, the last thing they needed was a person for them to rally around. It was true that ordering their execution ran the risk of creating martyrs, but far better to remove them from the game than leave them as possible threats.

Justinian disagreed. He was moments away from choosing another punishment – exile, most likely, given how he'd disposed of the disloyal senators – and Theodora could not have that. She bit her lip.

It wasn't exactly the first time she'd used this particular tool. She'd known she had special abilities from an early age, and made careful use of them. They'd allowed her to survive the penury of her early years after her father had died and kept her from serious damage at Hecebolus' hands. They'd allowed her to work her way from fatherless, penniless orphan chit to prominent, wealthy actress – and finally to Empress.

She'd managed to develop this particular charm shortly after she'd married Justinian. Originally, she'd used it to encourage his sympathy for disadvantaged and abused women: he knew most of her past, though she'd managed to hide the more sordid details, and out of respect for her he'd thrown more of his weight behind laws to protect her sisters, literal and metaphorical. She'd had to help him along a few times, but she would be damned before she let another man take advantage of her again, and thrice-damned before she let it happen to her daughter.

This, however, would be the first time she'd used it in this powerful a form.

"I am Empress," she whispered to herself. "I command."

_Imperio_.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_Iraq, 751AD_

Yahiya clutched at the stitch in his side, gasping. He desperately tried to force his weary legs to move faster, to catch up to his more athletic brother and Bedr, the ex-slave. He'd never been terribly interested in the more active pastimes of a prince as a child, preferring to spend time with the scholars and rare texts in the palace in Damascus. Time on the run had hardened him, but he still wasn't fast enough.

He could hear the shouts of the riders behind them, and then slipped and nearly fell as Bedr took a sharp turn, leading them to the river. _He cannot mean to swim across…_ but apparently he did.

The powerful river cutting through the high desert was dangerous at the best of times. It was deep and swift, with an undertow that was known to drown large animals. It would delay their pursuers…but only if they survived. And Yahiya was too low on energy.

He didn't regret what he'd done. The Abbasids were too close – he had to use the modified spell he'd gleaned from the old Greek texts or chance the warriors stumbling across his sisters and nephew. It wouldn't have mattered that the women were unarmed or that Sulayman was not quite five; they'd have been cut down and left to rot. It took energy to use, though, energy he'd not had the time to replenish in the short days since then, constantly on the move and looking over his shoulder.

_Though,_ Yahiya mused wryly, stumbling over a loose rock, _at least I knew what to expect this time._

The first time had been almost an accident. He'd been scouting ahead as he fled the palace with his siblings, keeping a wary eye out for enemy soldiers. Rounding a corner, he nearly tripped over a lone warrior in enemy colors, a highly ranked officer. Yahiya had no illusions about his combat skills – unlike his talented older brother, he was mediocre at best, and he knew it. So he'd lashed out with the modified curse, feeling the power flow through him…and nearly yelped in surprise when the man fell down dead.

He'd managed to keep it together long enough to get some distance from the city, but he'd finally collapsed when they stopped in a village to hide and pick up supplies.

Ahead of him, Bedr leaped into the river, striking out strongly for the other side. Yahiya watched as his brother followed, then he was at the bank and making the jump himself. Behind them rocks flew as the Abbasid soldiers reined their horses to a halt, refusing to enter the water themselves. He could hear them shouting, promising not to hurt them if they came back. _Like you didn't hurt our aunts, uncles, and cousins?_ Yahiya squashed that thought ruthlessly, before the old ache rose up in his chest.

He might as well not have bothered. He was tiring, barely managing to keep from being swept downriver, and he knew that even if he made it across he wouldn't be able to run any further. Coming to a decision, Yahiya turned around, facing back towards the mounted warriors. He could hear his brother screaming at him, begging him to come to him… but no. _Go, Abd al-Rahman_, he told his brother silently. _I will give you time. Use it. Bedr will get you away._

Finally reaching the bank again, he shakily pulled himself out of the water. He could see the horsemen riding down on him, readying their weapons, and couldn't help the wry smile.

Who would have thought, he mused, that a spell of healing could, with a very few changes, become a spell of death? He reached out to the closest of the soldiers.

_Avada Kedavra._

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><p>AN:

Just a little tidbit. Thanks go to **Rusting Roses** for the beta.

References:

Emperor Titus ruled for all of two years before he suddenly took ill on his way to the Sabine Territories. His alleged last words were "I have made but one mistake". According to the Talmud, an insect flew up his nose and ate away at his brain for seven years. When he died, his skull was cracked open and the insect, now the size of a bird, was released. This is taken to have been divine punishment for, among other things, his role in the sack of Jerusalem in 70AD.

Empress Theodora was born a commoner and quite literally worked her way up from crushing poverty to marry Justinian I. She lived with a patron named Hecebolus for nearly four years starting when she was sixteen; his maltreatment of her likely influenced her push for women's rights. At the end of the Nika riots, Justinian's order to have Anastasius I's nephews executed reportedly came at her insistence.

The Umayyad dynasty ruled the Muslim world from 661-750AD, at which point the Abbasids led a rebellion from modern-day Iran. Much of the family was murdered, and survivors were forced to scatter or die. Yahiya was cut down on the banks of the Euphrates and his body desecrated, but his brother Abd al-Rahman escaped. He then went on to become Emir of Córdoba, founding a dynasty that would last until 1031AD.


End file.
